


Lift Up The Receiver, I'll Make You A Believer

by trashcangimmick



Series: Oh My Poison [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Aromantic Yvette, Consent Issues, Drinking, Jack is a dick, M/M, Omega Handsome Jack, Omega Rhys, Omega/Omega, Omegaverse, Slow Burn, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-20 05:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Rhys has the good luck (or grave misfortune) of meeting Handsome Jack at a business conference. His life goes immediately off the rails due to Jack's weird, kind of stalkerish attempts to woo him.





	1. Feeling Unknown and You're All Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'm just gonna write some quick Rhack smut. Just 2k of dirty Omegaverse porn. It'll be fine.  
> Me 10k later: THEY'RE SO DUMB I HATE IT I JUST WANTED THEM TO BONE WHY DID THEY HAVE TO BE SO DRAMATIC ABOUT IT
> 
> Basically Jack is The Worst(TM), and Rhys does not deserve this, but it happened anyway. Also there is some side Rhys/Yvette. This ain't yer daddy's Omegaverse, though there's bound to be some daddy kink adjacent shit because of Jack and his stupid pet names.

Rhys loathes conferences. 

 

Sure, it’s an “honor” to be sent as one of two Atlas representatives to go rub elbows with all the other major weapon suppliers in the galaxy. It means Rhys is a good salesman and people higher on the food chain have noticed. But when his partner for the weekend is Hugo Vasquez (who takes no small pleasure in calling Rhys the  _ booth candy _ ), and Rhys gets stuck at their table for hours on end being hit on by an endless stream of overly friendly Alphas who all want to buy him a drink later—it’s hard not to feel like the whole exercise is just a waste of time. 

 

No actual deals or contracts ever come out of these things. At least, not for a company as small as Atlas. The point is to see and be seen. To retain a claim on their presence in the outer planets. Hell, the fact that this mess is being held on  _ Helios  _ of all places speaks volumes about what a joke it is. It’s an opportunity for Hyperion to flex and keep everyone else in line, on the pretense of friendliness and free trade. That, and every sleazeball here seems to just be looking to get laid. 

 

Rhys tries to keep a smile plastered across his face, but it’s getting harder by the minute. Vasquez should have been back an hour ago. Rhys is hungry, tired, and overwhelmed by the clashing scents of So Many different Alphas in one confined space. At work, usually there’s at least some Betas and the occasional other Omega. But he hasn’t seen one of either since he sat down that morning. 

 

“So… do you see yourself staying at Atlas in the long term?”

 

Some generic-looking Alpha, with brown hair and broad shoulders has been talking for at least the last ten minutes. Rhys stopped paying attention when it became apparent the guy just loved the sound of his own voice. It takes him a minute to even realize he’s been asked a question. 

 

“Um, yeah. I don’t know. Probably. It’s a really great company.”

 

“That’s a shame. A pretty thing like you could really do well at Dhal.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“There’s been a lot of talk about corporate diversity lately. It’s never been a better time to be an Omega in this industry.”

 

“Uh huh.” Rhys drums his fingers on the table top. Is there a graceful way out of this conversation? Does he care? This is the twelfth time today he’s heard the bluster about how open and accepting everyone is these days. And it always ends with… 

 

“Take my card. If you ever decide you’re looking to branch out, I’m sure I could set you up in a very nice position.”

 

Rhys takes the card and tosses it in the trash can that’s hidden underneath the table cloth as the Alpha finally walks away. Maybe fantasizing about one day being high enough on the ladder that he can shoot people in the face without consequences. 

 

That’s what Handsome Jack does, after all. The infamous, one and only, Omega CEO that runs Hyperion with the sort of trigger-happy mania that makes even the most pompous Alphas shake in their boots. He’s often held up as the golden example of how anyone can be anything, regardless of endotype. But Rhys figures Jack is more an exception that proves the rule. An Omega can ascend to power if they act like an Alpha, refuse to have children, and leave a trail of horribly maimed corpses in their wake. Not exactly equality in the general sense of the word. 

 

Rhys sees Vasquez out of the corner of his eye and stares daggers. Of course, the asshole doesn’t apologize for taking an impossibly long lunch. He just settles down at the booth like nothing is wrong and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

 

“Have a nice break?” Rhys snaps just a little. 

 

“Sure did. You get some more phone numbers?” 

 

“Unfortunately.”

 

“Atta boy. Flirting is great marketing.”

 

“I’m going to lunch.”

 

Rhys doesn’t exactly storm off, but he knows he doesn’t look happy. He keeps on a purposeful bitch face at the food court, hoping it might get him some degree of privacy. 

 

He manages to eat his sandwich in relative peace. It’s not until he moves over to the bar for a well-deserved martini that things fall apart. He’s barely sat down at his small corner table when an eerily familiar voice interrupts his solitude. 

 

“You probably get this all the time, but does that thing vibrate?”

 

Rhys turns his head, half ready to say  _ no, I don’t get that much because most people aren’t crass enough to reference a stranger’s robotic limb in some half-assed pickup line _ . But the words get stuck on the tip of his tongue. He’s looking up at a masked face that’s plastered on Hyperion promotional materials all over the galaxy. 

 

Handsome Jack is standing over him, smiling and holding a cocktail. A few beats pass in absolute silence. 

 

“What’s wrong, kiddo? Never seen a celebrity in the flesh before?” Jack sits down without being invited, sipping his drink and staring in a way that can only be described as predatory. 

 

“Um… no. I guess I haven’t.”

 

“Well it’s your lucky day then, huh? Back to my original question. What sort of two bit operation is Atlas running if their mechanical implants don’t have some functionality as sex toys? There’s gotta be a significant fraction of the market who that’s a deal breaker for.”

 

“I—am not entirely certain, sir. I’m not in the robotics division.”

 

“And you’re the best Atlas has to offer? That’s depressing. Well, at least you’re nice to look at. I get what everyone out on the floor was losing their shit over.”

 

“Excuse me?” Rhys knows he sounds strained. He can’t help it.

 

“You’re the toast of the town, cupcake.  _ ‘Have you seen that Omega from Atlas? Young, fertile and unbounded. Looks like he’s just gagging for it.’  _ Matter of fact, I think there’s some sort of betting pool about who’s gonna bang you before the weekend is over.”

 

Rhys doesn’t know what to say to that. So he opts to down most of his drink and blink a few times. Jack laughs. 

 

“Yeah, I hear you, babe. If any of them were smart, they’d have bet on yours truly. But nobody even thought to put me in the running. Can you believe that? I almost threw in just on principle, but I make a rule not to gamble if the pot is less than a million dollars. Otherwise it’s just a waste of time.”

 

It’s all so casual. Like Jack didn’t just insinuate that him and Rhys would be having sex in the near future. The whole situation seems like a bizarre fever dream. Rhys needs another drink. 

 

“You’re awfully quiet over there.” Jack drapes an arm across the back of Rhys’ chair. “Still trying to figure out what you did to get a chance like this?”

 

“I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

 

“Well, I’ll save you the trouble. Hyperion makes a business of having all the hot commodities. Ironically, you are the hottest commodity at this supposed gun show. So, instead of buying some bullshit patent, Hyperion is going to acquire you. What’s Atlas paying? I’ll triple it.”

 

Rhys night actually faint. This is all happening so fast. He looks around, maybe for some sort of lifeline. The bar has emptied apart from a lone server. Probably all scattered at the first sight of Jack. 

 

“You want to hire me?” He manages to choke out, with no small effort. 

 

“Of course,” Jack snorts. “It’s branding. Us Omegas sticking together and whatever. Think about the headlines. Besides, according to my contacts you pull good numbers. You’re hopefully not always this dumb. And most of all, I get to rub it in the face of every other douchebag that wishes they were the one to snag you. Four times what you’re making right now. How about it?” 

 

Rhys doesn’t miss the increase in perspective payment. Of course, his salary is probably nothing to a man who won’t make frivolous bets for less than a million dollars. He very much doubts that Jack even cares about what value Rhys could provide to Hyperion in return. This is a power play. Jack doing something just to prove he can. 

 

Still. Is it stupider to politely refuse the most prolific mass murder in recent history or to take the bait that’s definitely too good to be true? Working for Handsome Jack means death more often than it doesn’t. Rhys very much likes being alive. 

 

“Hello?” Jack snaps his fingers in Rhys’ face. “I know you’re stunned speechless at how gorgeous I am, but I need you to focus here. Job offer. New apartment on Helios. All your wildest dreams come true. Sign on the dotted line and it’s all yours, kiddo.”

 

Jack slides an ECHO pad out of his pocket, along with a stylus. He sets it on the table in front of Rhys. Three year employment contract already pulled up. Rhys doesn’t even want to know what’s in the fine print. He’s read boilerplate Hyperion contracts before while doing opposition research. There’s usually at least five pages devoted to how the company isn’t responsible in the event of various horrific deaths and how they can’t be sued for ‘disciplinary action’ a.k.a. torture. 

 

“I am flattered by the offer, sir—“

 

“Jack.”

 

“You’re being very generous, Jack.” Rhys drowns the rest of his drink. “But I’m afraid I’m currently on year two of five in a contract with Atlas, and I’m unable to leave at this time.”

 

“Pshh. I’ll buy out the rest of your contract. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“All right. I have no desire to leave my current position.” Rhys forces a smile. Braces for impact. Half expecting Jack to pull a gun on him. 

 

“Sorry, I must have heard you wrong. Did you just try to turn down the offer of a lifetime?”

 

“You heard correctly, Jack.”

 

“You know you’re on my space station right? Like, I could toss you out an airlock and nobody would so much as blink.”

 

“I am very much aware of that fact.”

 

Jack half raises an eyebrow. Stares at Rhys for a minute. Then he cracks a smile. “I gotta hand it to you, kid. Not many people even  _ try _ to negotiate with me anymore.”

 

“I wonder why that is.” Rhys says it before he can stop himself. But maybe it doesn’t matter. He’s already basically dead, right?

 

Jack leans in close. Way too close for comfort. “Because I always get what I want, Pumpkin. One way or the other. If I felt like it, I could buy your entire company and shut it down tomorrow. People generally don’t wanna fuck with the guy who’s holding all the cards, you know?”

 

“So why are you making threats instead of just taking whatever you want by force?” Rhys waves to the server for a fresh drink. In for a penny, right?

 

“Fuck. You’re not half bad at this.” Jack is all smiles again. “Won’t budge an inch. Even when it’s beyond idiotic.”

 

“When my only bargaining chip seems to be the fact that you want me to willingly acquiesce to your demands, I don’t see the advantage in giving it up.” Rhys accepts his fresh drink and sips it slowly. It’s a wonder he manages to keep his hands from shaking. 

 

But Rhys has kind of screwed up fear responses. Stressful situations tend to send him into a blank calm. Probably one of the reasons he can hold his own in high pressure negotiations, despite the fact his biology should be urging him to roll onto his back and cower. 

 

“You know something?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I’m a little wet right now.”

 

Rhys almost chokes on his drink, but maintains composure. “Congratulations?”

 

“Well, if you don’t wanna sign the contract yet—how about we go up to my penthouse?”

 

“That’s kind of a presumptuous change in tactics.”

 

“Oh, come on. With that hair? And that suit? I haven’t seen a more obvious dyke in years. Besides, you get visibly disgusted any time there’s an Alpha within three feet of you.”

 

Rhys isn’t sure whether or not to be insulted. He dresses fine. His hair is great. If Jack’s trying to make him insecure, he’s gonna have to try harder. 

 

“Even if that were true, what makes you so sure I’m interested in you specifically?” Rhys barely resists rolling his eyes. 

 

“Everyone is into me, babe.”

 

“I know they say confidence is attractive, but you might be taking it a little far.”

 

“Tell me it’s not working.” Jack looks so fucking smug as he wraps a wide hand around the back of Rhys’ neck and squeezes. It’s the sort of move that would usually result in Rhys kicking someone in the nuts. 

 

But in the few seconds it takes him to tamp down the wave of boiling hot lust that crashes through his body, Rhys knows he’s already lost the high ground. This is what happens when you take heat suppressants, and never go on dates, and in general ignore you sex drive. The second a willing partner presents themselves, your body betrays you wholesale.

 

Still, Rhys is a professional. He can ignore the urgent throbbing between his legs. The sudden dampness in his boxer briefs. Even if Jack can certainly smell it, Rhys can pretend it’s not happening. Just like he’s been pretending the scent of Jack’s arousal isn’t hitting him like a sack of bricks. It’s dark, musky with hints of gunpowder and leather. Rhys wants to roll around in it until he can’t distinguish where he ends and Jack starts. He can acknowledge the desire, and still understand that acting on it would be suicidal.

 

Carefully, calmly, he takes hold of Jack’s wrist and tugs it away from his neck. There’s a glint in Jack’s eyes that is equal parts terrifying and alluring. Rhys sips his drink, keeping his eyes fixed on some undefined point in the distance.

 

He’s not new. He knows when someone’s working him over. Jack most likely dangled the job offer as a bigger, more dramatic ask, so that falling into bed with him would seem like a compromise. It makes more sense than Jack actually wanting to poach him that badly.

 

If the bastard had just  _ asked _ without all this ridiculous posturing, Rhys might have been halfway inclined to say yes. 

 

“Sleeping with you would be extremely inappropriate. I’m sure you can appreciate that.” Rhys says with the steadiest voice he can manage. 

 

“I dunno. I’ve never been super into the whole propriety thing.” Jack licks his lips. 

 

“I’m afraid I will have to decline your offer.”

 

“Jesus, kid. They weren’t kidding when they said you were a tough little cookie. What’s it gonna take for you to loosen up?” 

 

“You don’t actually want me to tell you. It’d ruin the fun.” Rhys allows himself to offer a small smile. He finishes his drink and stands up. 

 

“So that’s it, huh? You’re really just gonna walk away from me on my own goddamned space station?” Jack sounds incredulous, but not angry. Rhys likes his chances of living to see another day.

 

“It was very interesting to finally meet you, Jack. I’ll see you around.”

 

And with that, Rhys heads back to his booth. For a moment, he considers telling Vasquez to go participate in the betting pool so they can fix it together and split the cash. Rhys could pick one of the least arrogant Alphas and tell him he’s allowed to say they fucked. 

  
But that would probably be more trouble than it’s worth. And Rhys is _ actually  _ horny. He wants a real hookup. So he gets on his ECHO pad and starts messaging Yvette to see if she wants to have drinks when he gets back. Of course, she says yes. She always does. Having a best friend that’s aromantic and down to fuck at the drop of a hat is incredibly awesome. 


	2. Reach Out And Touch Faith

_ “Incoming video call from:  _ **_HELIOS SPACE STATION_ ** _.” _

 

Rhys leans back at his desk, eyebrows raised. He almost wishes he could grill his virtual assistant about how the fuck Handsome Jack got his contact information. But if he’s being honest with himself, Jack probably just bought every piece of data about Rhys that exists. Jack must know everything from his shoe size, to his medical history, shopping preferences and credit rating. 

 

There’s no such thing as a secret if you can afford black market data prices. 

 

Rhys hits the call accept button and doesn’t even bother to act surprised when he sees Jack’s face on his screen. 

 

“Hey there, kiddo. How’s tricks?”

 

“Is there a reason you’re calling me at my office?” Rhys tries not to smile. He shouldn’t find this funny. 

 

“What? I can’t phone up an acquaintance to say hello?”

 

“Oh. So we’re acquaintances now.”

 

“Could have been a lot more if you weren’t so stubborn, pumpkin.”

 

“To reiterate—you are just calling me to say hi?”

 

“You’re really not good at this small talk thing.”

 

“We’re both busy people.”

 

“All right, all right. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Hyperion is interested in the patent on the Atlas repeater pistol. I thought you might like to have a discussion on shared manufacture and distribution.”

 

“Really? Well that’s a little above my pay grade, Jack. But I’d be happy to connect you to the CEO—“

 

“I don’t want to talk to your CEO. You can tell her to authorize you as the new Hyperion liaison if she wants any of my money. She’s been dragging her feet on filling that position anyway.”

 

“Because you murdered the last one.” Rhys suppresses a laugh. God. What is wrong with him?

 

“Kid got to big for his britches. I did her a favor. That little rat was bound to try assassinating her.”

 

“I will pass along the message.”

 

“Good. Call me back when you’ve got good news. I’ll have Meg send over a gift basket.”

 

Jack winks and hangs up. Rhys sits there for a moment, wondering exactly how he’s going to tell his manager that the CEO of a rival company is demanding Rhys be promoted to a position that’s usually considered a dire punishment. He wonders if rumors will start swirling about Jack taking a strange interest in him. Probably not. The idea of two Omegas having an affair still isn’t something most people consider outside of a cheap romance novel. If anything, people will think Rhys fucked up in a big way and Jack is just playing with his food.

 

For all Rhys knows, they might not be wrong. But it looks like he’s about to find out.

 

***

 

Before the end of the week, Rhys gets a new office, a 20% raise, and his own ship so he can travel to Helios whenever it’s necessary. People are treating him like a death row inmate. Walking on eggshells and being overly nice. Absolutely no one is jealous of his new position. They probably figure he’ll be killed in a matter of months.

 

True to his word, Jack does send a gift basket. Expensive lube, a dildo, and some fancy chocolates. Against his better judgment, Rhys doesn’t throw any of it away.

 

Jack calls pretty much every day. Usually in the morning, while he’s half dressed and drinking his coffee. Sometimes he references possible contracts and patents. Sometimes he just asks personal questions. He almost always manages to steer the conversation into sexual history and preferences. Rhys should find it more off-putting than he does. 

 

“So you’ve seriously never been in a threesome?”

 

“Sorry?” Rhys shrugs. It’s still early. He’s also having his morning mocha. Maybe he’s not entirely awake yet. That’s why he’s letting this conversation even happen. 

 

“You don’t have to be sorry, cupcake. I feel bad for  _ you _ . Being with two people at once is like, a right of passage. Especially if you’re all in heat… fuck…”

 

“I actually haven’t been with another Omega in heat either.”

 

“What?” Jack splutters. “How old are you? You  _ are _ legal right?"

 

“You probably should have asked that before you tried to sleep with me. But I’m twenty-five.”

 

“Are you a virgin or something?” Jack looks almost horrified. 

 

“No. I just take suppressants. I haven’t had a heat since high school.”

 

“Rhysie. What are you doing with your life? You’re missing out on the quintessential human experience.”

 

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask you to teach me the mysterious ways of love?” Rhys snorts. 

 

“We’re talking about fucking, sugarpop. Not love.”

 

“Maybe I’m not interested in one without the other.” It’s a blatant lie. Rhys fucks his friends whenever he feels like it. But he’s kind of enjoying the delicate flower act.

 

“Could you be any more of a stereotype? You’re one of those Uhaul Omegas aren’t you.”

 

Rhys just shrugs. Jack sounds disdainful. But he hasn’t hung up. He must really like a challenge. 

 

“I’ve done the happily ever after crap before. Been married a couple times. It’s all the same bullshit. People are liars and a ring isn’t gonna keep them from fucking you over. You’re better off letting go of the fairytale now, babe. Save yourself the trouble.”

 

“I’m not sure I want to take your word for that.”

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

***

 

The first Business Trip comes a few weeks in. It’s a Friday morning. Jack almost casually suggests that Rhys should ‘stop by’ for dinner. Like it’s not a three hour trip. And like it’s not ridiculous for him to be inviting Rhys to Helios when they aren’t anywhere near an actual deal with the repeater pistols. 

 

Then again, as far as Rhys can tell this new job is less about any real collaboration and more about keeping Jack in a good mood. If Jack is in a good mood, he eases up on his market chokehold. He lets Atlas shipments pass through his territory without any undue hindrance. Atlas gets a better deal on bulk Eridium ore purchases. 

 

So, Rhys puts on a good suit and gets in his ship. He’s on Helios by mid afternoon. Jack is, of course, busy. So Rhys gets a tour of the station from a very nervous assistant. Meg. A young, Beta girl with glasses and a warbling voice. She’s not bad company, once you get past the twitchiness and constant checking of her ECHO pad. Rhys can relate to the general feeling of anxiety that comes from interacting with Handsome Jack on a regular basis. Though he has yet to personally experience one of Jack’s rage fits, he’s always somewhat on edge. Waiting for the tidal wave that's sure to come. 

 

When the tour is over, he gets shown back to what is apparently  _ his _ apartment. Fully furnished. Tastefully decorated. Stocked with his habitual snacks and preferred alcohols. Again, there’s no point in wondering how Jack knew. Rhys definitely shouldn’t be encouraging this sort of behavior–but as soon as Meg leaves him to his own devices, he’s curled up in the fluffy king-sized bed, surrounded by pillows and eating candy. 

 

_ Nesting instincts. _ Rhys wants to smack himself for getting suckered into such an obvious ploy. But he can’t fight his own emotions entirely. Someone has made him a cozy little cave, full of his favorite things. It’s a bastardized mating display, and he’s going to enjoy it at least a little bit.

 

Still. He gets himself together by the time dinner rolls around. He’s waiting in the living room with a stiff martini when Jack walks in without knocking. Even behind the mask, Jack looks tired. His hair and clothes are still perfect. But his eyes are dull and he slumps onto the couch without saying anything. 

 

“Are you all right?” Rhys asks after a few minutes of silence. 

 

“Honestly? I’m not sure today could have been more of a shitshow.” He turns his head enough to look over at Rhys. “Which is doubly upsetting, because now I’m exhausted and I can hardly even appreciate how fucking satisfied you smell. Did you bang my assistant or something?”

 

“What? No!”

 

“So this domestic shit really does it for you? Good to know.”

 

“You’re the worst.”

 

“I kinda think you’re into it.” Jack pulls out an ECHO pad and sends off a few messages. “Hope you’re in the mood for something deep fried. With the sort of day I’ve had, I intend to drown myself in carbohydrates.”

 

Dinner arrives within twenty minutes. Meg appears, pushing a cart full of food, and vanishes just as quickly. It’s a spread of different delicacies, many of which are indeed fried. Rhys tries a little of everything. He’s still kind of full from all the snacking he did earlier. 

 

Jack inhales a truly impressive amount of food. Like he hasn’t eaten in days. Maybe he hasn’t? He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for talking. The ostensible reason why Rhys is even here. When he’s finished Jack just pushes the cart full of dirty dishes into the hall, like it’s a hotel, and kicks the door shut.

 

“All right, cupcake. Daddy’s tired. C’mon.” He grabs Rhys by the wrist and tugs him up off his chair. It’s startling enough that Rhys almost loses his balance. 

 

He panics a little when Jack starts leading them towards the bedroom. He’s not sure if he should struggle. He’s not sure if it would matter. 

 

He’s not exactly relieved when Jack pulls them both down onto the bed, fully clothed. He’s more confused than anything. Because now Jack is just spooning him, nuzzling the crook of his neck, with an arm wrapped around his chest just a little too tight.

 

“Um… ?”

 

“Shhhh.” Jack squeezes him. “People constantly bitch about me not wanting to cuddle. Feel lucky. This happens like once a year.”

 

Rhys blinks a few times. Well. OK then. He tries to relax, despite the oddness of the situation. The pleasant feeling of being pressed up against another warm body slowly overrides any remaining anxiety. Jack falls asleep before too long. He snores a little bit. It’s more quiet snuffling than anything.

 

It’s kind of cute. 

 

***

 

Rhys makes it to the one month mark, and everyone around him seems shocked. Well, everyone besides Yvette who has apparently heard rumors about Jack being gay before. The queer community on the outer planets is pretty close-knit, after all. Everyone has at least a tangential awareness of everyone else. 

 

“Apparently, Jack used to host BDSM orgies and shit like that.” Yvette yawns and stretches. They’re at her apartment tonight. Both still naked and sweaty, sprawled across her bed. 

 

“I mean, that’s not surprising.”

 

“For a while, I’m pretty sure he was dating my cousin. Or banging her at least. He had some sort of poly thing going on with a few people at Torgue.”

 

“It’s amazing that this isn’t ever in the tabloids.”

 

“Is it? I mean, it’s Handsome Jack. People are terrified of him.”

 

“Yeah. Well. He is pretty scary.”

 

“So when are you gonna fuck him?” Yvette pinches Rhys on the hip. In the exact spot he’s most ticklish. 

 

“Oh my god! Stop!”

 

“C’mon. Your sex drive is higher than it’s been in like five years. You’re hot for him.”

 

“Honestly, I think playing hard to get is the only reason I’m still alive.”

 

“I dunno. I’m not sure Jack would hurt another Omega. From what I understand, it’s pretty much only Alphas that he’ll shoot between the eyes. As long as you’re not a bandit, you’re probably fine.”

 

“Really?”

 

“I mean, I don’t know for sure or anything. You’re the one who’s besties with him, why don’t you ask?”

 

“I am not  _ friends _ with Handsome Jack.”

 

“You talk to him more than you talked to me when we lived together.”

 

“It’s business.”

 

“Suuure it is”

 

***

 

Rhys sometimes wonders when he’s just going to admit to himself that he’s being courted and it’s working. 

 

He’s positive Jack isn’t putting much actual effort into it beyond the breakfast video calls. Meg is probably the reason the apartment is so nice. She has to be the one who convinced Jack to send actual presents instead of jokes and sex toys. Jack doesn’t seem like the sort of guy who would think to give Rhys a nice watch that integrates with his bionic arm, or a vinyl record of his favorite band from high school. Personal gestures don’t mean quite the same thing when they’re based on invasive research rather than a freely shared backstory. But they’re  _ almost _ touching. Which is more than Rhys ever expected. 

 

Of course, Rhys has done some research of his own. Not exactly black market information. More unconfirmed anecdotes through the queer grapevine. If the hearsay is at all reliable, Jack had fucked ten people in the eight or so weeks Rhys has been the Hyperion liaison. There’s even a rumor Jack has one or two other kept boys set up in apartments on Helios. Rhys isn’t jealous exactly. Or, he doesn’t want to be. He knows he doesn’t have any sort of claim on Jack. He’s just the flavor of the month. Something that’s shiny and interesting. 

 

But Jack is bound to get bored of the chase eventually. Rhys isn’t sure where that will leave him. He’s kept up with all his sales accounts—because talking to Jack isn’t actually that large a part of his day. He’s still making commission on top of his new salary. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Jack will just recommend he get fired or demoted whenever this game inevitably ends. 

 

***

 

“You’re trying to get me drunk,” Rhys hiccups.

 

“Trying? Rhysie. Baby. You’re already shitfaced.”

 

Rhys groans. This is so bad. He’s sitting on Jack’s desk, holding a mostly full glass of scotch. He feels much too warm all over. He should have stopped three drinks ago. But Jack keeps pouring. 

 

It’s a celebration, after all. Jack finally signed a production contract. Atlas gets to buy Eridium ore at extraction cost. They refine it, and in turn give Hyperion a 20% discount on bricks. Everybody wins. 

 

Jack is standing in front of him. He looks a little bit like a painting. Perfectly lit harsh angles, with the beautiful backdrop of space in the window behind him. 

 

Rhys has always wondered what the mask is made of. He can’t help himself. Before he knows what he’s doing, he has his hand on Jack’s cheek. It’s soft. Almost like skin. It’s not quite body temperature. But impressively close. 

 

Jack smiles. The mask moves with him. 

 

“Does it… can you feel through it?” Rhys looks down at his robotic arm almost as a reflex. Sophisticated motor skills don’t always make up for sensation. 

 

“Oh yeah. It’s thin. Honestly, I don’t notice it anymore. I forget it’s even there.”

 

Rhy wants to ask what’s underneath. Wants to know why Jack even wears it. But even in this state of intoxication, he knows better.

 

So instead his hand wanders down Jack’s chest. Over the garish yellow Hyperion t-shirt. Underneath the open vest and coat. Jack feels solid. Mostly muscle with a small layer of padding on top. He’s in decent shape for… however old he is. Forty? There’s definitely a few streaks of grey in his hair. 

 

Jack steps forward. Crowding between Rhys’ spread legs. They’re so close together. Rhys can feel Jack breathing. Warm puffs of air against his neck. 

 

“I like the initiative, cupcake.” Jack laughs, voice rough and low. “But you shouldn’t tease. A guy’s only got so much self control.”

 

Rhys might shiver a little. Somewhere, deep in his lizard brain, he likes this. Being pursued. Cornered. When Jack plants his hands on the desk, almost touching the outside of Rhys’ thighs, effectively trapping him, it makes Rhys whimper. Tilt his head and bare his neck.

 

“Fuck. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

 

Rhys kind of does. He’s about to say so. The words get lost when Jack’s teeth sink into the side of his neck. All he can mange then is a strangled gasp. Jack bites hard. Not quite hard enough to break the skin, but there’s definitely going to be a bruise. Rhys feels a little like he’s drowning. Dizzy from the alcohol. Tingling all over. He’s half a step behind reality. It takes him a second to notice that Jack’s kissing him.

 

Their lips slide together. Jack’s got a hand fisted in his hair. A hand squeezing his ass. Their tongues touch. Rhys is dripping wet. The throbbing between his legs is unbearable. He can smell Jack’s arousal. Wants to taste it. 

 

His body might have other plans, if the twisting in his stomach is anything to go by. He pushes on Jack’s shoulders a few times. Trying to get him to back off. He might as well be trying to shove a brick wall.

 

“I…” Rhys turns his head away to break the kiss. Jack dips down to attack the other side of his neck. “Jack I’m… I don’t feel so good.”

 

“You need to lie down? That can definitely be arranged.”

 

“No I…” he feels the bile trying to claw its way up his throat. Oh boy. Here it fucking comes. 

 

“What the hell do you–” Jack pulls back a few inches, brow furrowed in what is probably frustration.

 

Rhys leans to the side and throws up on the floor. He misses the trash can by a mile. 

 

“God fucking damn it.” Jack kicks his desk chair and sends it careening off to the other side of the office. He storms off out of sight. Or rather, Rhys can’t see him after he slides off the desk and onto the floor. He at least remembers to lie on his side, so that he doesn’t choke. 

 

He’s so dizzy. There wasn’t a lot in his stomach to expel. Probably a large contributor to the issue. He didn’t eat dinner. 

 

“Meg! Get up here right now. There’s puke on my carpet.” Jack shouts, presumably into his ECHO pad. 

 

Rhys wants to apologize, but he’s afraid to open his mouth.

 

A door slams. Rhys gets the impression he’s alone. Probably for the best. He starts dry-heaving pretty badly, making the worst retching noises imaginable. He’s not sure how long it is before the door opens again. Meg appears above him and tries to help him sit up. She’s got a wet washcloth. She wipes his face off. The cool fabric feels nice.

 

“Poor thing,” she murmurs. “I keep telling Jack that normal people can’t keep up with his usual drinking pace. But what do I know? I’m just the girl that cleans up the mess.”

 

She manages to get Rhys onto his feet after a few tries and leads him over to the couch. She puts a trash can beside him and sets a glass of water on the table. Rhys tries his very best to mumble a  _ thank you _ . But he’s already being dragged down into unconsciousness. 

 

***

 

Jack’s there at the docks to see Rhys off in the morning, looking incredibly proud of himself. His clothes are rumpled and he reeks of sex. 

 

Rhys has a terrible headache. He can’t think of a witty way to broach the subject of Jack smelling like another Omega. Of course he’s offended. But admitting that would be defeat.

 

“Sure you don’t wanna stick around for another day? Meg managed to get the stains out of my carpet, so I won’t even have to rub your nose in it.”

 

“Go to hell,” Rhys smiles as cordially as he can manage. Already walking up the ramp towards his ship. Jack, of course, follows. 

 

“Do I at least get a goodbye kiss?”

 

“No.” The  _ I’m not going to touch you when you’re covered in someone else’s pussy juice _ hangs in the air, unsaid. 

 

“Wow. Hangovers make you pretty grumpy, huh?”

 

Rhys doesn’t even turn around as he walks through the door of his boat and shuts it behind him. Jack waves through the porthole, blowing kisses. 

 

Jealousy is never a comfortable emotion. But the fact that Rhys is feeling it because of a douchebag like Jack is almost enough to make him want to drive straight into a star. He settles for just pulling away from Helios and messaging Yvette. If Jack’s gonna take his sexual frustration elsewhere, so can Rhys. 

 

Does that make him a hypocrite? Probably. Does he care? Nope. 


	3. I Will Deliver, You Know I'm a Forgiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FYI: there's some referenced past non-con. And Jack is a piece of garbage, but we already knew that.

“So yeah. Plan to come by tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got my schedule clear for the week. Bring enough clothes to last a while. Or y'know, don’t.” Jack winks. It doesn’t break the sudden tension. Because yeah, Rhys has visited Helios a few times now. He’s stayed the night. But a multiple day trip?

 

“A week?” Rhys can feel his eyebrows creeping upward. 

 

“Yeah,” Jack shrugs. “Why not? You got something better to do?”

 

“I mean—yes, quite frankly. I don’t understand why you could possibly need me there that long.”

 

“I thought it was your job to do whatever I said.” Jack snaps a little. 

 

“It’s not. My job is to examine areas of possible collaboration between our companies.”

 

“You’re a corporate hooker, cupcake. You’re a present to me, from Atlas, so that I don’t wipe your pitiful operation right off the map.”

 

“Don’t talk to me that way.”

 

“I’m Handsome goddamn Jack. I can talk to you however I want.”

 

“And I can put in my resignation any time I want. Stop it.”

 

“Fine.” Jack huffs. “Don’t come. Quit. See what I fucking care. I don’t know why I even waste my time on you. You’re such an ungrateful little shit. I invite you to my home, shower you in gifts, play way nicer than I usually do, and you’re still just a stuck up, frigid bitch.”

 

“Are you about to have a heat?” Rhys can’t keep the exasperation out of his voice. 

 

Jack actually looks a little taken aback. Stunned, even. Like it’s amazing Rhys can do simple arithmetic. There are few things that could make someone as busy as Jack take an entire week to himself. That, and the fact that Jack is more on edge than Rhys has ever personally seen him…

 

“What’s it matter?” Jack cracks his neck. 

 

“That’s generally the sort of thing you’d tell someone before trying to drag them into it.”

 

“Maybe I got tired of waiting. I honestly don’t know what else you want me to do. I gave you an apartment. Got you a better job. I  _ talk _ to you every fucking day. It’s been three months. You owe me this.”

 

Rhys purses his lips and says nothing. His hand hovers over the ‘end call’ button. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting this. Jack is not a nice person. But the fact that he would invite Rhys over when he’s about to go into heat without even trying to discuss it first… Rhys would probably go into a sympathetic heat despite the suppressants. He would be unable to resist. In the moment he wouldn’t want to. 

 

It would be exactly like the first time. When Rhys was just sixteen and the twenty-eight year old next door neighbor took advantage in the muddled confusion of it all. Rhys didn’t struggle. Didn’t scream for help. In fact, he begged to be knotted and got exactly what he asked for. In the grand scheme of things, he’s probably lucky he didn’t get knocked up or bonded and stuck with that creep for the rest of his life. 

 

He still feels sick thinking about it. 

 

“Are you gonna say anything?” Jack isn’t even looking at him anymore. 

 

“I thought that maybe you weren’t as bad as everyone says. Apparently, I was mistaken.”

 

Rhys hangs up, still reeling. Heart pounding in his chest. Nobody likes reliving old traumas. Splitting open wounds that never really healed. 

 

He’s already planning his resignation letter as he walks out of his office, towards the nearest bar. He desperately needs a drink. He needs to drink until he passes out into blissful unconsciousness. His ECHO pad chimes. New message from Jack. Rhys switches it to silent. 

 

***

 

Rhys wakes up the next morning with only vague ideas about how he got home. He half remembers the bartender, Moxxi, shoving him into a cab. The lights are still on and he’s fully dressed. Everything hurts. 

 

He picks up his ECHO pad to call in sick, and sees 37 messages. All from Jack. He’s too tired to even begin parsing them. Rhys doesn’t hit the ‘delete all’ button like he should. He just sends off a quick message to his manager before stripping off his clothes, putting his mechanical arm on the charger, and going back to sleep. 

 

When he manages to drag himself out of bed, much later that afternoon, Rhys doesn’t even feel like showering. He just sits on the couch, watching TV, dreading the prospect of looking for a new job. He likes Atlas. But how is he going to justify pissing Jack off this badly? Will he even have anyone to justify it to by the end of the week? Will Atlas still exist? He’s sure terrible things are coming down the pipe. Not knowing exactly what they are just makes it worse. 

 

Rhys almost makes it the full day without reading the messages. Almost. The suspense of uncertainty isn’t something Rhys has ever been great at coping with. 

 

**You can’t just hang up on me. We weren’t done talking.**

 

**Did you turn your ECHO off?**

 

**I know you aren’t ‘away’ what else could you possibly doing?**

 

**Don’t fucking ignore me, peaches.**

 

**If you don’t answer, I will send someone to find you.**

 

**You really wanna play hide and seek with the the most powerful man in the galaxy?**

 

**Wow. At the bar already. It’s not even ten o’clock there.**

 

**You’re pathetic.**

 

**Why is this even such a big deal? I know you’re into me. Why wouldn’t you wanna spend a heat together?**

 

**Frankly, you should be flattered. I could have anyone. I picked you.**

 

**I know you love playing hard to get, but you can’t drag it out forever. It’s getting really old.**

 

**Or maybe you just want to die alone.**

 

**Really, Rhysie. Three martinis before noon?**

 

**You know, I wasn’t gonna force myself on you or something.**

 

**Is that what you fucking think of me? If I wanted to do that, I would have the first time I met you.**

 

**Why bother with all the bullshit romance if I didn’t care about you being into it?**

 

**I don’t get what your deal is, kid.**

 

**Meg is trying to take my ECHO away right now, can you believe that?**

 

**When did you two become such good buddies that she feels the need to defend your sorry ass?**

 

There’s a significant pause in between the time stamps after that. Rhys can’t even imagine how that conversation went. He almost wants to message Meg to make sure she’s alive. But Jack would see that. 

 

**It’s really a shame you’re not letting me express this energy in a more productive way. I just blew up one of my favorite ships.**

 

**Ah, who am I kidding? I can always make more ships.**

 

**I don’t know what it is about shooting something with a rocket launcher, but it really relieves the tension.**

 

**Why the fuck are you still ignoring me?**

 

**Aren’t you drunk enough to feel like apologizing yet?**

 

**Granted, I’ve been drinking too and I’m not more inclined to say sorry. But I didn’t do anything wrong.**

 

**I think it’s starting early.**

 

**You’ve stressed me out so much it’s starting a whole goddamned day early.**

 

**I hope you appreciate the irony here.**

 

**If you can barely stay on the bar stool, you’ve had too much to drink. I’m telling Moxxi to cut you off.**

 

**I also apparently have to call you a cab. Great. This is great.**

 

**If only you weren’t too stubborn to at least tell me you got home safe. Then I wouldn’t need to hack the security cameras in your building.**

 

**I will probably regret admitting I did that.**

 

**Just like I’m sure I’ll regret most of these messages.**

 

**Heat does weird things to your brain.**

 

**Especially when the idiot you’ve been courting decides to throw a fit at the worst possible time.**

 

**The most fucked up part might be that I don’t even wanna call someone else to help me deal with this.**

 

**Guess I’ll see ya on the other side, cupcake.**

 

Rhys just sits there. Unsure what exactly he’s supposed to be feeling. He’s still angry. Offended. Of course, it’s probably too much to ask for Jack to ever admit wrongdoing. 

 

There’s a small part of him that honestly wishes he was with Jack right now. Even if Jack is a complete asshole that displays a lot of alarming possessive behavior and seems prone to gaslighting anyone who disagrees with him. Hell. He’s basically a stalker. But there’s something inexplicably endearing about him? 

 

Maybe it speaks more to how screwed up Rhys is than anything else. A sane person would run from Jack as fast as possible.

 

Rhys lets out a heavy sigh and sends a message off to Yvette asking if she wants to get drinks. She responds right away, saying she’ll be at his an apartment in an hour with a bottle of wine. Maybe he can’t drink away this whole mess of a situation. But that’s not gonna stop him from trying.

 

***

 

Rhys ends up taking several days off work. He never uses his leave for heats. So he’s got a lot of paid time off in the bank. It might not be good for him to just sit around his apartment in sweatpants, eating takeout and feeling generally morose about the state of his life. But whatever. Who’s gonna stop him?

 

Yvette isn’t a girl that suffers fools. He didn’t want to show her all of Jack’s messages. But she wrestled the ECHO pad out of his hand and read them anyway. She only confirmed the notion that Jack is a crazy piece of shit, who will use guilt, insults, and straight-up lies, often mixed together in the same sentence. 

 

He can almost still hear her voice, booming through the apartment. 

 

_ “How can he say he wasn’t trying to force it, if he was gonna bring you over there right when his heat was starting without any warning? It’s one thing if that sort of shit happens by accident. But planning it? Christ.”  _

 

But it’s complicated. Because if Jack had asked nicely… Rhys isn’t sure he would have said no. Despite being scared. Despite everything else. He does legitimately feel some type of way about Jack. He hates it.

 

And what if Jack telling him he wanted him to come over for a week  _ was _ the warning? Jack could have just not said anything at all, right? Maybe Jack was waiting to ask outright until Rhys got there. Maybe he would have given Rhys the chance to back out before things got too crazy. 

 

_ “People don’t get cookies for not trying to rape you when they could get away with it. That’s like the bare-minimum standard of human decency. He also tried to take advantage when you were drunk. He’s clearly got no qualms about getting pushy when you can’t defend yourself. Fuck him. If I ever meet him, I’m gonna punch him in the face.” _

 

It’s all pretty screwed up. Rhys knows that. He knew his existence was gonna get exponentially weirder the second Jack waltzed into it. He didn’t really have a choice about participating in this whole whirlwind of bullshit. Quitting his job at Atlas seems unlikely to actually fix anything, because Jack would just follow him. 

 

His life has been ruined because the biggest asshole in the universe wants to fuck him. 

 

And the thing about it all that pisses him off the most is that if he managed to somehow disappear into the woodwork and never talk to Jack again–he would miss the bastard.

 

Why? Who the hell knows! Not Rhys. Maybe it’s the attention. Feeling special. It’s impossible not to feel special when the guy who has everything becomes hell bent on having you specifically. Jack is, you know,  _ handsome _ . He’s really fucking hot, and Rhys would have been on his knees ages ago if Jack wasn’t such a douchebag. 

 

Besides, Jack does some things right. He’s actually not a bad conversationalist if he’s in the mood for it. He’s good at giving the impression of listening to Rhys’ opinions, though whether or not any of it sticks is unclear. He does make an effort to carve time out of his insanely busy schedule just to check in every day. Is he sweet in his own way? Does Rhys actually think the stalking is cute? Maybe? He feels awful about it. 

 

Rhys ends his little vacation with no clear answers and even more confusing emotions than he started with. Sometimes, thinking things through doesn’t help. 

 

Sometimes, the only solution is a complete change in tactics. 

 

***

 

Rhys arrives at Helios unannounced about two days after Jack’s heat should have ended. Jack has tried to call him a few times already, so he knows the bastard is up and about again. It’s been so gratifying to repeatedly hit the call decline button. Rhys is petty. He can admit that about himself. 

 

Nobody at security gives him a second glance. They know who he is at this point. He messages Meg to ask if Jack is in his office, and gets an affirmative response. Bless her, she doesn’t ask why he needs to know. 

 

Rhys half expects to hear Jack over the intercom as he rides the elevator up to the very top floor. But when the doors open and he walks into Jack’s office, it seems he actually managed to hold onto the advantage of surprise. 

 

Jack is sitting at his desk in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, typing away at his computer, looking tired and bored. His eyes widen as Rhys walks forward. He doesn’t exactly scramble to stand up. But it’s definitely a rushed motion. 

 

“Rhysie! You came to apologize in person? I can’t say I’m not flattered by the gesture—“

 

“Shut up. Sit down.”

 

“Well someone is in a toppy mood.” Jack rolls his eyes. But he does sit. 

 

Rhys pulls up a chair on the other side of the desk. He takes an ECHO pad out of his briefcase and slides it across the desk. 

 

“What’s this?” Jack cocks his head. 

 

“My formal letter of resignation. I’m leaving my job at Atlas.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Torgue made a better offer. I’ll be starting as a client relationship manager next week. As I’m sure you’re aware, Torgue does not have any corporate liaisons, to Hyperion or otherwise. It’s going to stay that way. Do you understand?”

 

Jack’s face has rapidly shifted from surprise to something much meaner. His lip is curled like he’s ready to snarl. Of course, he doesn’t take rejection well. But Rhys already knew that. 

 

“I don’t want to mix my work and my personal relationships, Jack. It’s not healthy. I know you love being able to call me over here on a whim, but that’s not a practical way for me to advance my career. I do not want to be a ‘corporate hooker’ as you so colorfully put it. Any attempts on your part to reinstate that arrangement will be met with hostility.”

 

“You’re talking a pretty big game there, kid.” Jack grunts. “I think you’re forgetting how much control I have over every goddamned thing that happens out here. I’m sure I could have your little job offer taken off the table with a single phone call.”

 

“You could. But you won’t.”

 

“And why’s that, pumpkin?”

 

“You want to fuck me. And have been trying to do so unsuccessfully for months. I’m prepared to give you exactly what you want. Under my terms, that is.”

 

Well. That certainly has Jack’s interest. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Oh, yeah? What sort of terms are we talking?”

 

“The first is that you don’t interfere with my job, whether you’re trying to  _ help _ or not.”

 

“OK. Sure.”

 

“The second is that I get to approve or deny anyone else you want to sleep with. I would prefer monogamy, but I know better than to expect miracles. Third, you’re not allowed to stalk me. If you want to know where I am or what I’m doing, you can ask nicely and if I don’t feel like telling you, then you just have to deal with that. I’m also going to need you to turn over any information about me that you’ve illegally acquired.”

 

“What are you talking—“

 

“Don’t even  _ try _ to say you don’t have a file full of black market data on me. I’m not stupid. My fourth condition is that I need you to respect my personal space and autonomy. If I don’t feel like touching you, or talking to you, then you will leave me alone without any protest. My fifth condition is that we do not share any heats, because I don’t want to. End of story.  I’ve outlined all of this on the third page of that resignation letter. Please countersign.”

 

“Well, shit. It’s kinda hot when you take charge like this.” Jack laughs. He pulls out a stylus and signs the last page of the contract without even looking it over—which probably says exactly how much he cares about legal documents. At the end of the day, Jack is going to do whatever he wants. But still. It’s better than nothing, right?

 

Rhys takes the signed contract and puts it back in his briefcase. His sense of bravado is quickly wearing off. Especially with Jack staring at him like he’s a piece of meat. 

 

“So, now what?” Jack smiles. 

 

“We have a relationship, I guess.”

 

“Awww. That’s cute. And here I was just gonna suggest we fuck.”

 

“You’re a monster.”

 

“And you just had me sign a contract agreeing to date you. C’mere sugar!” Jack rolls back from his desk and pats his thigh.  

 

Well. Rhys has come this far, right? Now he’s finally allowed to enjoy it. He strides over and settles into Jack’s lap, straddling his legs, holding onto the back of the chair for balance. It’s not much of a slow seduction. Jack grabs Rhys’ tie and yanks him down into a kiss. His hands are everywhere. Grabbing, squeezing, making Rhys feel a little breathless. 

 

He is being devoured. It’s definitely something he could get used to. 

 

Jack moves fast. One moment he’s skirting his fingers under the lapels of Rhys’ blazer and lifting it off his shoulders. The next he has Rhys’ pants unzipped and his shirt unbuttoned. There’s no warning before he has a hand in Rhys’ boxers. Dragging his fingers between slick folds of skin. Just barely brushing against Rhys’ cock. 

 

It’s small. Even for an Omega. It can’t be more than an inch long. It’s not something Rhys has even been particularly ashamed of. Everyone else seems to like it just fine. 

 

Rhys moans and presses forward when Jack slips a thick finger inside him. Yvette isn’t really into penetrative stuff. It’s been a while since Rhys even used a toy. 

 

“Jesus, you’re tight.” Jack growls, mouthing at Rhys’ neck. “I am gonna fucking destroy you.”

 

Rhys doesn’t have time to really register that before Jack has grabbed him by the hips and lifted him up onto the desk. His pants and underwear are gone with one motion. Ripped and ruined. That shouldn’t make him shiver with want. There’s already a sticky spot on the wood underneath him. 

 

Jack is still sitting in the chair. He rolls forward, hikes Rhys’ thighs up over his shoulders, and then his tongue is doing wonderful things. Dragging over Rhys’ cock at just the right tempo. The only problem is that it’s too light a pressure to be satisfying. Rhys whines. Tries to grind against Jack’s face. But he doesn’t have a whole lot of leverage like this. 

 

“Ask nicely.” Jack looks up at him and winks. 

 

_ “Harder.” _

 

“That’s not very nice.”

 

“Please fuck me as hard as you can.”

 

Jack laughs. The vibrations feel strange and very good. “Careful what you wish for there, cupcake.”

 

Then he’s back to work. Licking between the folds of Rhys’ pussy. Sucking on his dick. He slips two fingers in, and Rhys is going to die. 

 

His muscles tense suddenly and he shakes apart. Gushing more slick onto the desk. Making embarrassing noises. Jack doesn’t stop. It’s way too much. It doesn’t exactly hurt. But it’s more than uncomfortable. Rhys pushes ineffectually at Jack’s head. In response, Jack puts another finger in him. Fucks him faster. 

 

Rhys is quickly at that strange plateau where overstimulation turns into a desperate need for release. He’s clenching around Jack’s fingers. Wailing and making an even bigger mess than before.

 

“You come pretty easy, huh? Or you’re just  _ that _ into me.” Jack has backed off a little. But has not withdrawn his fingers. He lazily thumbs Rhys’ dick, making him jump. “I wonder how many orgasms you can have in an hour.”

 

“Oh my god,” Rhys gasps. 

 

“Don’t worry, baby. That’s an experiment for later. There’s too many other things I want to do right now.”

 

Jack stands up. He doesn't even bother to take off his pants. He just unbuckles them and let’s them sag around his knees. Rhys stares. He can’t not. Because of course, Jack walks like a guy that has something to be proud of. Of course, the universe is a twisted and cruel place, so Jack has the dick to back up all his dickish behavior. That thing is huge. Well, not by Alpha standards. But Jack could definitely give most Betas a run for their money.

 

Rhys wraps his hand around the base of it. Strokes it a few times before letting go so he can dip his fingers down where Jack is slick and silky. It’s surreal. Sliding two fingers into Jack’s pussy. It’s a fairly small opening. Rhys wonders if he could fit his whole hand inside given enough lube and patience. 

 

Jack kisses him again. Rhys can taste himself. 

 

Then Jack’s pushing Rhys’ hand away. Lining up and pressing forward. Fuck.

 

Rhys feels incredibly full. It doesn’t hurt, at least. After two orgasms and plenty of mess, Jack glides into him without much resistance. The first few thrusts are slow. It lulls Rhys into a false sense of security. He’s just starting to enjoy himself when Jack kicks into high gear. 

 

Brutal is the only word for it. Jack pounds into him, fast, hard and rough. The slap of skin echoes through the office. Rhys can’t do anything besides hang on for the ride. 

 

He doesn’t usually enjoy this sort of treatment. This is what Alphas do. Maul you within an inch of your life because they can’t control their own animalistic aggression. The instinct to take, mark and claim. Jack doesn’t have that excuse. Why does that make it sexy? God damn it.

 

“You’re just dripping for me, aren’t ya?” Jack rumbles, right into Rhys’ ear. “I knew you were a dirty slut, deep down.”

 

Rhys grabs the front of Jack’s shirt and kisses him. After the initial shock, this pace is kind of working for him. Jack’s not wrong, after all. Rhys has never been wetter. He’s always known that he kind of gets off on humiliation. Feeling used. He spreads his legs wider. Hooks his ankles together behind Jack’s hips and pulls him deeper. 

 

“That all you’ve got?” Rhys nips at Jack’s lip.

 

Jack’s rhythm stutters. He groans, grabbing Rhys’ ass and actually lifting him up off the desk. Rhys scrambles, clutches at Jack’s shoulders. This new position seems a little precarious. But Jack is fucking him with as much enthusiasm as ever. 

 

Rhys manages to slip a hand between them. He starts to touch himself. Getting off three times in twenty minutes seems ambitious. Then again, isn’t ambition what got him here in the first place?

 

_ “Yeah,” _ Jack breathes. “That’s it. Daddy wants to feel it. Want you to come on my cock like a filthy little whore.”

 

Rhys wants to ignore that extra lurch of heat that rocks through him. But it’s probably a little late to pretend he’s not into this. All of it. So he moans into Jack’s mouth as they share a sloppy kiss, and rubs his dick just right, and he’s coming so hard he actually whites out for a second. 

 

Of course, Jack doesn’t stop. He barely even pauses to change positions. It’s a fluid motion as he puts Rhys on the desk again, this time on his back. He holds Rhys by the ankles, spreading them out in a wide vee. Rhys grips the edges of the desk because he doesn’t know what else to do. The squelching noises happening every time Jack pushes into him are almost too much to cope with. Rhys would be blushing if his skin weren’t already fever-warm from the combination of endorphin overload and vigorous physical activity.

 

“Think you’ve got one more in you, baby?” Jack looks so incredibly smug. Rhys wants to smack the smile off his face. But he’s not super confident in his ability to sit up right now. Hell, he can’t even string a coherent sentence together anymore. 

 

Jack releases his grip on one of Rhys’ legs, propping it on his shoulder, so he can slide his hand downwards. The skin on Rhys’ inner thigh is so sensitive. He squirms, which just pushes Jack in deeper. And then Jack’s fingers brush across his dick. Rhys cries out. He’s babbling. T _ oo much, too much, too much, more, more, more. _ Jack somehow manages to speed up. He’s rubbing Rhys’ dick with the sort of rough carelessness that would usually be painful. But Rhys is too overstimulated. It’s a wonder he can feel anything. 

 

The fact that Rhys is starting to tense again is nothing short of a scientific oddity. He should  _ not _ be physically capable of having another orgasm right now. And yet. He’s close. He’s so fucking close. It might be the steepest hill to climax he’s ever faced. He’s a little worried about what’s going to happen if he actually gets there?

 

“Come on,” Jack grunts. His hair has fallen out of place. The skin under his mask is flushed. He’s finally falling apart too. “Come on, baby. You can do it. Come for Daddy. Just one more time.”

 

Rhys screams. There’s a crunch of splintering wood. Rhys has apparently pulled a corner off of Jack’s desk with his bionic arm. Whoops. He doesn’t care at the moment. He’s dealing with the full-body spasms, hips twitching, not breathing, eyes rolling back in his goddamn head. It can’t be more than ten seconds later when Jack collapses on top of him. Panting and laughing like a psycho.

 

“Oh my god. Oh my god, Rhysie. Did you just break my desk?” He’s practically wheezing. “I hate to say it was worth waiting for, but that was pretty fucking awesome.”

 

Rhys is too spun out and exhausted to do anything but lie there. He doesn’t object when Jack kisses him again. He reciprocates as much as he can. 

 

Then Jack starts to roll his hips. The bastard is still hard. 

 

Rhys whines. Not exactly trying to get away. He’s going to be sore for a week after this. At least this time Jack doesn’t seem to be in such a rush. He keeps it slow. Halfway intimate, even. 

 

“I have a video call scheduled with some stooge from Dhal in like five minutes. I kinda want to just keep fucking you through it.” Jack licks the side of Rhys’ neck. 

 

_ “Jack,” _ is the only scandalized protest Rhys can offer. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have an exhibitionist streak a mile wide. One of his favorite things is when Yvette pins him against her floor-to-ceiling windows ass naked. The rational parts of his brain understand that banging Jack on a recorded video feed would provide endless blackmail material and is, y’know, extremely inadvisable. The mewling, horny, hedonist that seems to currently be in charge of his thoughts says,  _ feels good, let’s do it. _

 

“I could just turn my camera off. Think you can be quiet, pumpkin?”

 

“No.” Not that it would matter. Jack’s every movement makes an unmistakable slick noise. 

 

“Atta boy.” Jack grins. “I like screamers.”

 

Rhys really should say something. Do something. Pushing back against Jack’s thrusts definitely isn’t it, but he can’t be held accountable for his actions at this point. Regret and consequences are things for future Rhys to deal with. 

 

Jack straightens up and reaches over him to hit the call button on his computer. Welp. Goodbye dignity, it was nice knowing you.

 

“Heya Meg.”

 

“Hello, sir.”

 

“Clear my schedule until at least noon. I don’t care what you say to who, just make it work. If they bitch about it, tell them the alternative is giving my shotgun a blowjob.” Jack hasn’t stopped moving. If anything, he’s pushing deeper. Rhys has a hand clapped over his mouth because oh my god this is actually happening. 

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Thanks, babe.”

 

“Would you like me to send up some champagne with lunch for you and Mr. Rhys?”

 

“Well look at that, you  _ are _ developing a sense of humor!”

 

“I am doing my best, sir.”

 

“Well yeah, why not. Grab us a bottle of Veuve or something. Toodles.”

 

Jack ends the call. Rhys lets out the moan he’d been holding in. The heat of shame is pulsing through him, mixing with the already present cocktail of lust and sexed out dopeyness. 

 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Jack has dipped back down to suck bruises onto Rhys’ neck. “Having an audience. Someday, I really am gonna fuck you on a conference call. Hell, I’ll fuck you at a board meeting. Show everybody who you goddamn belong to.”

 

Rhys can feel the stirring, tingling sensation deep inside him. It just gets more intense when Jack starts rubbing his cock again. Rhys knows he’s being loud. He may or may not be babbling various meshes of  _ yes _ and  _ please _ . Jack is gathering momentum. Seems like he’s veering towards the cliff as fast as Rhys is. 

 

Jack’s free hand as drifted down from Rhys’ hip. He drags his finger around the puffy hole he’s currently thrusting into. Rhys shudders. It’s an odd sensation. 

 

“Want me to knot you, baby?” Jack sounds wrecked as Rhys feels. 

 

It takes a moment to even comprehend the question. A few more to try and figure out what Jack actually means. 

 

And then Jack is pushing three fingers into Rhys, right alongside his cock, and it’s reminiscent of a knot swelling. Rhys kind of feels like he’s being split open. Apparently his body decides the appropriate reaction is to orgasm violently. Tense and release. Rapidfire like a SMG. Rhys feels like he’s being dragged underwater by a wild riptide. He’s going to drown, and he’s weirdly fine with it.

 

He hears Jack growl and swear somewhere off in the distance. He’s so disconnected from his own body, he barely registers that someone has picked him up off the desk. When he starts to return to reality, he’s on the couch. Curled up in Jack’s lap.

 

He presses his cheek against Jack’s shoulder and lets out a contented sigh. The whole room smells like them. Intermingled and indistinguishable. Jack has him wrapped in a loose hug. He seems happy to just sit there, at least for a while. Until Rhys can get his legs to work again, which will take an indeterminate amount of time.

**Author's Note:**

> I have like another 6k of this written and I'm still deciding if I wanna tack it on here or make a series. Regardless, there's more coming down the pipe on 4/29.


End file.
